


Post Finale Blues

by von_gikkingen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, WandaVision (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, F/M, Fangirl Darcy Lewis, Finale Feels, Senor Scratchy cameo, westview
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29957136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/von_gikkingen/pseuds/von_gikkingen
Summary: While she’s having a case of hurt fangirl feels – or possibly a villain moment since she does to think of real people as nothing more than characters on her favourite show – someone else is going through something a lot worse than a mild case of post finale blues. “You okay there Piet... I mean...” she cuts off, takes a breath and tries again. “It’s Ralph, right?”Educated guess but one that makes the next door neighbour snap out of his shellshocked little moment to briefly regard her. To finally register he’s not alone by the empty lot where not that long ago stood a house occupied by a perfect little sitcom family.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Ralph Bohner, Ralph Bohner & Agatha Harkness
Comments: 5
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

This was the wrong place for her to be.

The absolute perfect place for her to let the feels flow through her and at least begin to try to digest everything these last few days made her feel. Still, Darcy knew. She should _not_ have come here.

Her genuine enjoyment of what was _not_ just a tv show but someone’s unchecked power warping lives of very real people was... problematic to say the least. It probably meant she was a monster, but... well... _Wanda Vision_ really was a good show. Compelling and unique and very much the kind of thing that would keep her glued to the screen even if she wasn’t required to do so to assist SWORD with their shady little operation.

A good show that was definitely cancelled now.

That alone was making her feel all kinds of things – things Darcy wouldn’t be human not to feel. But what really got to her, far more so than being rendered a minor extra at the last day of shooting, was _the way it ended_.

The heartbreaking thing Wanda Maximoff was forced to do in order to give the people of Westview back the lives she never really intended to steal from them. A woman who was already asked to do an unthinkable thing once before. What to her was nothing but a few short weeks ago.

No human should be asked to bear that much suffering and yet, these thing just kept happening. To someone who was, all things considered, really not a villain. “And here I am whining about how my favourite show won’t get renewed for season two,” Darcy utters under her breath.

She is just on the brink of adding a heartfelt _what the hell is wrong with me?_ when she catches herself. Not because she's talking to herself in public. It's just that she can no longer ignore the fact that while she’s suffering through nothing worse than a case of hurt fangirl feels – or possibly a villain moment, since she _does_ continue to think of real people as nothing more than characters on her favourite show – someone else appears to be dealing with something a lot worse than a mild case of post finale blues.

“You okay there Piet... I mean...” she cuts off, takes a breath and tries again. “It’s Ralph, right?”

Educated guess but one that makes the next door neighbour snap out of his shellshocked little moment to briefly regard her. To finally register he’s not alone by the empty lot where not that long ago stood a house occupied by a perfect little sitcom family.

“How do you know my name?” he frowns after taking a long second to figure out whether he feels like talking to her at all.

“Oh, I heard someone mention it earlier,” Darcy shrugs, coming closer.

Yes, that’s... definitely a way to phrase it.

Heard _someone_ mention him episode after episode. In a manner that perfectly fit the format. Turning this real man into nothing more than a trope of that one character that gets namesdropped like crazy yet is never actually seen by the audience.

Now, obviously Agatha had her reasons for using that particular name when talking of her imaginary husband. Wanda was in everyone’s heads and several of Westview’s residents must have been aware of who it was that lived in this house. So of course it had to be _Ralph_. And there was nothing that sinister about it, really there wasn’t...

Which would be so much easier to convince herself of if she haven't seen far too many episodes. Heard far too many now suspicious lines from the forever grinning Agnes. That hopefully weren’t based on anything that actually went on in this house. Because they brought up the troubling possibility that Ralph might have been kept around as magically brainwashed sex slave.

The thought alone makes her shudder. And his checked out expression that makes it a near certainty he''s mentally replaying some troubling memoriy...? Yeah, that's not helping.

So much for her having a moment by the house her OTP lived in and then getting the hell out of Westview. “Look, if you want to talk about it...”

“I should go check on the rabbit.”

Not the answer she expected but, hey, at least he was somewhat aware there was another person here trying to have a conversation.

“The rabbit,” she repeats, hoping she didn't hear that right.

“Scratch,” replies Ralph. His face still mostly expressionless but at least there’s some resemblance of emotion in his voice now. “Pretty appropriate name. Little asshole scratches like crazy.”

“ _And_ he’s a witch’s familiar. I mean... right?” Darcy says, unable to help herself. “So let’s leave the demon bunny to its own devices.”

“Can’t do that.”

It’s all he says before treating her to the briefest smile that doesn’t _quite_ meet his eyes and turning around to head into creepy basement under his house.

To go check on a rabbit he just admitted to being mauled by at some point. A rabbit owned by the person who magically brainwashed him and made him pretend to be someone’s dead brother at the very least...

There was no way to judge what was a healthy reaction to surviving everything that went on in Westview recently but somehow Darcy was sure that _this_ wasn’t it. “Is that really what you want to be doing right now?” she says, right behind him. Hesitating only a moment at the threshold to the, yep, _definitely creepy_ basement.

“No,” replies Ralph after giving it some thought. “It’s just that I have no idea what to do next and... well, someone should feed him, right?”

“Not if he consists on a diet of human flesh.”

At that he just stares at her for a second. More confused than anything else. Which is... strange.

“I’m sorry, are you not getting a Wicked Witch of Westview vibe from this place?” she says, gesturing around. “You should be relieved she’s gone. Not... well, whatever you are. Concerned for her pet.”

The look he gives her then is as good as if he actually said _you’ve got a point there_. And still he keeps on going. Seemingly oblivious to the spooky fairytale forest vibe their surroundings give off. Moving through the place as though he’s perfectly familiar with the layout.

Which is... disquieting. “She kept you locked up down here, didn’t she...?” Darcy guesses.

“The door wasn’t actually locked.” 

He says it casually. As though they’re making smalltalk about something ordinary. Like, say, the plot of her currently favourite show...

“So... You’ve got Stockholm Sydrome,” she comments.

He chuckles at that. It’s not an unamused sound. Definitely a step up from the utter lack of emotion from earlier...

If only he didn’t immediately ruined the impression he might be improving by coming up to the rabbit and picking up the possible demon. “That is _such_ a bad idea,” says Darcy under her breath.

“So is following a complete stranger into a dark basement,” Ralph replies, not missing a beat. And if his tone of voice was just a little different those would have been words to chill her blood. But there’s not a trace of a threat in the way he says it. He’s merely stating a fact. And, well... he’s _not_ wrong. “I guess today is just a... bad idea kind of day,” he adds with a shrug. 

It’s not really phrased as a question. Still she finds herself nodding in agreement. Because, yes, today was a lot of things – and _that_ would be one of them.

In fact she’s starting to get a bad idea that beats the whole _let’s go see the place where Wanda’s house stood so I can get all whiny over half of my OTP getting deleted out of existence_ thing.

“Hey... Ralph? Would it be weird if I stayed here a while? Just until the FBI gets around to coming to debrief you. It’s just... I am _so_ sure that thing is gonna try to eat you...”

“And of course you have previous experience with fighting off carnivorous rabbits,” he says, definitely amused by that idea. 

_Definitely_ confused by the very real offershe’s making here, too. It's written all over his face as he half-heartedly pets the rabbit.

He also seems to be finally catching up to the fact he doesn’t even know her name or the first thing about where she came from and... well, for all he knows he’s dealing with yet another witch here.

Still he’s considering inviting her stay. She can tell he is.

Darcy holds her breath as she waits for the answer. Not entirely liking _that_. Or the way being told that he wouldn't mind the company makes her feel. Time to remind herself just what a punchable Pietro this guy made but... no... No, that’s not gonna do anything now, is it? She screwed up by not noticing it earlier and all she can do now is stay and see how much worse can things get.

“Can you please put the rabbit down?” she says as the silence between them starts to edge toward awkward with the seconds passing.

“It really is just an ordinary animal, you know,” he comments, clearly amused by her conviction Agatha’s pet must be some kind of a demon.

“Yeah, probably. I still prefer you weren’t holding it. Makes you look... just... adorable.”

“Thanks,” he comments, finding no better way to respond to _that_ comment. Which is fair. For what it’s worth she’s currently wishing she phrased it in literally any other way. “Should we... head upstairs...?”

“Is it less creepy than down here?”

“Not by much.”

A smile tugs at the corners of her lips at that matter of fact comment. “Lead the way,” she says.

He does. They’re halfway up the staircase leading into the house when he glances over his shoulder and finally asks.

“Darcy,” she answers. “Darcy Lewis.” 


	2. Chapter 2

“You really don’t have to talk about...”

“Oh but I want to,” says Ralph, cutting her off. His eyes just brimming with amusement. Which is in no way making her feel better about where this conversation ended up going. “Just what exactly do you think she did to me...?”

“I don’t know. That’s all I’m trying to say here. I was only ever controlled by a regular witch, and even that wasn’t for very long. You were under the spell of someone far scarier. Well, not... scarier. But I saw her when she dropped all pretences and went full witch. She was... did I say wicked yet? Not to repeat myself but that really is the only word I can use here. She was _wicked_. And not in that vague cackling faitytale witch way. More like...”

“ _Something Wicked This Way Comes_?” he finishes for her. Startling her into silence. “What?” he frowns, clearly having trouble interpreting her reaction.

“Just... doesn’t seem like your kind of movie.”

He does the thing then. The one that’s making him come off as _such_ a weirdo - if an adorable one. He turns to the rabbit that’s been ignoring them from where he sits on top of a beanbag and says, “Should I tell her? I mean... if watching an old movie that I’m pretty sure every kid saw at least once seems out of character for me this might actually blow her mind. What do you say, Scratch...?”

“Stop talking at the rabbit,” she sighs.

“Stop making assumptions about me based on a character I played on a show,” Ralph replies. Leaving her with nothing she could possibly say. Because, yes, that _is_ something she needs to stop doing. “I read the book, by the way. _Something Wicked_ ,” he adds to clarify. “I read that. More than once, actually. And you’re not wrong. She _is_ kinda like that. A genderswapped Mister Dark. Not as evil as she seems but... Wicked really is the word.”

Stockholm Syndrome. Must be. There’s just no other explanation for how he can discuss this in such a casual manner. To talk about Agatha as though she was just some minor, if unpleasant, acquaintance. A woman with actual _magical_ powers. Powers were used to literally take over his mind...

“You didn’t answer my question, by the way. What exactly do you think she was doing to me? Because if I didn’t know better I might think you're implying something inappropriate might have gone on behind the scenes.”

“I never said that,” says Darcy. Too quickly.

And there’s that grin again. In fact he really seems to be barely suppressing laughter at the very idea. In a way that makes her feel somewhat better. At least she didn’t accidentally bring the subject to some trauma he finds it impossible to talk about. No, she just said something so preposterous he was struggling not to start laughing in her face.

“Right. You didn’t. But I love that that’s where your mind goes. Though not as much as I love that _you_ don’t have any magical powers. Because _what would you use them for_ Darcy Lewis?” he says, shaking his head at her, mock scandalized.

“Oh, shut up,” she rolls her eyes.

“She’s rude,” Ralph chuckles, yet again turning to confide in the rabbit. “And a potential sexual predator. I think we’ve done it, Scratch. We found her at last. The perfect woman.”

“You know, I think I liked you better while you were being a bad excuse for Pietro.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “No, I think you like me just fine.”

She just about manages not to groan at hearing that. Because why, _why_ did he have to say that...?

Was it true? _Obviously_. It's been taking conscious effort for her not to lean in closer as she listened to him recount his time under Agatha’s spell.

An experince that sounded pretty far from traumatic. Because the more he talks the clearer it becomes that the rabbit probably did more damage to him than the witch did. 

“Why did you say yes when I asked if I could stay?” Darcy asks eventually. Just to banish this silence between them, so full of potential for bad ideas.

“Didn’t want to be all alone with Senor Demon Eyes,” he answers. Managing to make it sound like they’re still having the same casual conversation about their respective witch encounters. Even though they no longer are, she doesn’t think... “Why did you ask if you could stay?”

“Didn’t want to be all alone with my OTP feels.”

An answer that would simply confuse most people. But it seemed he understood at least a few phrases of that secret language denizens of fandoms used to communicate things among each other. “Were they really? Your OTP?”

“They really were. Relationship goals, those two,” she says, meaning every word. A deep, almost painful melancholy washes over her when she remembers the end to that lovestory. “They deserved _so much better_.”

“People almost never get what they deserve,” says Ralph. And it is only then she realizes anyone else would look away by now, made uncomfortable by all the emotions she clearly feels on the subject. All the raw feels that were making her miserable on behalf of someone who overwrote her personality into that of a quirky extra only yesterday.

“Maybe you were lucky that Agatha got to you first. You never had to feel it. All that loss... the loneliness...”

“You know... Every time you talk about Wanda you kinda look like you need a hug. But not as much as you need to hug _her_ ,” he says, frowning a little as though not sure if he’s getting what he’s trying to say across to her. “But I’m the one with the Stockholm Syndrome.”

“You are though. What I have is a Fangirl Syndrome. A whole other thing.”

“Really attached to that favourite character, aren’t you? Even after she turned you into... well, whatever she turned you into. You never said.”

“No,” Darcy replies, breaking eye-contact. “I didn’t.”

“That bad?” he grins before trying to force a semblance of a serious expression. Making no secret of the fact he’s dying to ask...

She sighs and, regretting this in advance starts to explain. “So SWORD had a tent town set up just outside the hex. And when the barrier moved outward that became a... well... circus.”

“A circus,” he repeats. Really trying to keep it together as he’s holding his breath for the next revelation.

“And before you make it weird in your head she didn’t make me a clown. Or a mime or anything creepy.”

“But she did put you in a tiny, sparkly costume, right?”

She gives him a look that comment very much deserves. It takes a second but Ralph does realize this is where he’s supposed to pretend to be ashamed of himself for that particular mental image. “I was an escape artist. What? How is that worse than being a circus acrobat in some crazy revealing outfit...?”

“It’s not... _worse,_ ” he says, looking anywhere but at her. “Just... I mean... were there chains involved by any chance...?”

“I hate you.”

It’s the only appropriate response to what he just said - and _how he said it_. Too bad she can’t make herself mean the words...

“Sorry. No, really. I am,” he says. Pausing a beat before adding. “So sory that it wasn't sparkly skintight leotard _and_ chains...”


	3. Chapter 3

“It’s crazy that they’re not here yet,” Darcy frowns, quickly glancing at her phone. “Starting to think Jimmy is trying to make sure you don’t have to live through the trauma of getting debriefed this soon after everything that happened.”

“And Jimmy is...?”

“Oh, just the embodiment of lovely, inoffensive hufflepuff-ness,” she has already said before she could remind herself the person she’s talking about is a government agent. Who might not appreciate being described in such terms.

Well, whatever. It _was_ true.

“He’s great. You’re gonna love him. I mean... he’s probably this late because he’s busy putting a blanket around Agatha to take the edge off of the symptoms of shock she doesn’t even have. He’s still gonna try to make it better. For the same reason he always brought me coffee. Just... how he is.”

She takes a moment to appreciate what it is she’s saying here. Because, yeah, she _will_ miss working with him. She really will.

But that can be addressed later, though. The look of uncertainty and, yes, definitely disappointment on Ralph’s face? Now _that_ needs to be addressed right now. Because there’s only so much talking she can do here, especially with her mind forever drifting to... other things.

“I’ve been dealing with government people a lot. Even before I pulled my act together and gave this whole astrophysicist thing a serious go. They’re these perfectly efficient automatons for the most part. It’s just... nice to meet one that’s an actual person,” she says. “He’s impossible not to like. You’ll know what I mean when you meet him. Which won’t be today. Because I’m going to let him know he would be doing me a huge favour if he rescheduled your debriefing for another day.”

“Is it because... you want to debrief me yourself...?” asks Ralph, leaning in as though they’re sharing a secret.

“Please never use that word as a euphemism again.”

“I... wasn’t,” he says. His eyes lighting up with hope an excitement as he adds a half-whispered. “Should I have been?”

“Why do you think I’m still here? Slowly losing hope you’re gonna make a move since you seem a lot more interested in talking to the creepy bunny. You are so lucky it’s exactly as adorable as you think it is,” Darcy sighs.

“Well, maybe I’m just trying to take the moral high ground here. You are clearly going through something here. I’m not taking advantage of someone with a case of OTP feels this bad...”

“That’s your excuse?” she says, shaking her head at him.

“You were standing on that empty lot when I first saw you. Talking to yourself. Probably about how perfect they were for each other,” Ralph reminds.

Half-joking, true, but he’s also not underestimating just what a weird emotional place she’s in right now. And that’s... worse. But then he’s always making it worse. It’s been a while since he said a single thing that didn’t make her want to grab a handful of his hoodie, pull him close and...

“Do you know why people do that?” she asks as she hurries to banish those thoughts before she can act on them. “Romantic frustration. We like the idea of someone having all the things we wish we had and don’t – and even though it probably shouldn’t, knowing that _someone does_ does make it more bearable. You catch yourself going _I’m so glad they have that_ instead of _I wish that was me_ and that’s it. It’s all over. You’ve crossed to the dark side. You’re a shipper.”

“What a terrible fate,” he says – with just the right level of drama and just the right smile.

“It’s a curse,” she replies levelly enough. “But hey, at least I’m not going to turn into a were-rabbit at the next full moon.”

“Don’t. Don’t joke about that. That is a real concern,” he says, almost serious as he pulls up his sleeve to reveal a scratched forearm. None of the wounds are particularly deep or dramatic but... there _is_ a lot of them.

It once again strikes her just how crazy it is for him to decide to keep the little monster who did that. She sure as hell wouldn’t...

But he would. This once annoying fake Pietro who was most likely never going to kiss her no matter how clear she made it she wanted him to. Because she just had to watch her OTP go down in flames and that was traumatic and she was _not_ in a great place.

Bad timing. For both of them, really. And she couldn’t think of a single thing that would make it _not_ that. That would make it possible to forget he was a very recent victim of witchcraft and one that might not be anywhere near as well adjusted as he appeared. “Is this really just not going to happen?” she wonders out loud. “I don’t think I want it to not happen. Can’t you just forget I’m emotionally fragile and I’ll forget you’re scarred, literally _and_ figuratively and...”

“And just focus on the fact that we _are_ crazy shippable?” he says, smiling if a little taken aback by the soft undertone of sadness in her words.

“We really are, you know.”

He does know. She can tell by the way he looks at her. That he can just imagine the legions of fangirls holding their breath as they wait to see what happens next...

“So I’m going to get the cage. Then I’m going to put the scratchy monster inside it and take him into the next room,” he tells her in a perfectly level tone of voice as he reaches to brush a few stray hairs out of her face.

“And then...?” asks Darcy, not daring to hope.

“And then I’m going to try to forget you’re in the weirdest place, emotionally speaking. Hopefully you can try to forget I most likely do have a touch of Stockholm Syndrome,” he says, getting up so he can get going on the whole removing-the-demon-rabbit-from-the-area thing. “And we’ll just... take it from there?”

She nods. A touch too vigorously perhaps but... what the hell. No point in pretending she isn’t totally onboard with _that_ plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... I think this is it... all I have to say on the subject... leaving the rest to your imagination...


End file.
